


sarcastic fringeheads are out there and they do not appreciate your doubts

by itsmylifekay



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Beach!AU, Happy Ending, M/M, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Skinny Steve, bucky is a lifeguard, steve has a sad backstory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-12
Updated: 2014-08-12
Packaged: 2018-02-12 20:03:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2122869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsmylifekay/pseuds/itsmylifekay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky’s always been secretly terrified of Skinny Kid getting sucked into the water. Because Skinny Kid didn’t get his name by chance. The guy is tiny. His skin’s pale white despite the hours in the sun and he looks like a strong wind wouldn’t just knock him over but instead send him flying into the next state. So yeah, Bucky’s worried. </p>
<p>The last thing he needs is someone dying on his beach.</p>
            </blockquote>





	sarcastic fringeheads are out there and they do not appreciate your doubts

**Author's Note:**

> this fic is my baby. i was feeling pretty shitty about my writing so decided to completely turn what i'd been doing upside down, kind of back to the way i used to write way back when i was in the kpop fandom. and yeah, i really like this and a million thanks to the beautiful and talented [whatthebodygraspsnot](http://archiveofourown.org/users/WhatTheBodyGraspsNot/pseuds/WhatTheBodyGraspsNot) for all of her help and support.
> 
> i hope you enjoy!!

\---+---

\---+---

It’s hot. And not just the average shirt-sticking-to-your-back-with-sweat kind of hot. It’s _sweltering._ Bucky’s skin is covered in a sheen of sweat and he can practically feel himself roasting under the sun’s unrelenting glare. He knows he’s going to be fried extra-crispy by the end of the day and is not looking forward to it, despite the aloe he knows his mom always has on hand.

And, just to make matters worse, today is apparently the day the local group of Neanderthals has decreed to be _their_ day at the beach. Anyone else who so much as steps within their space is subjected to either a litany of crude and off-color comments or a verbal beat-down the likes of which has Bucky’s toes curling. And it isn’t even noon yet.

“Barnes!”

He looks down from his perch on the lifeguard chair and sees Natasha squinting up at him from a few feet below. “Yeah?” He asks.

He’d volunteered earlier to take beach patrol and leave her the chair, but she had seen right through his ploy to keep her away from the overly tanned douche brigade and very coolly told him where to shove it. In fact, she was supposed to be there now, tooling around the beach on their four-wheeler and making sure everyone was staying safe.

“The skinny kid is here again.”

And…okay, yeah, that would explain it then. ‘The Skinny Kid’ had been coming to their area of the beach for a couple months. He’d never get in the water, never even wore swim trunks, just the same ensemble of khaki shorts and a button-up every time. He would sit by the water and draw for hours, moving in and out with the tide.

They’d both placed bets on how long it would take for him to get taken out by an errant wave. So far, neither of them were winning. (The kid had to have a knack for seeing them coming or something.)

But that’s beside the point.

“Where’s he headed?”

“Where do you think?” Natasha rolls her eyes and Bucky immediately picks up the binoculars and shifts his focus to the left side of the beach, the area Skinny Kid always favors and, of course, the area the resident asshole clan has decided to settle for the day.

“He’s not actually going to go over there, is he?”

He finally spots the familiar shock of blond hair moving down the sand just as Natasha sighs, “You’re pathetic, James. Just go over and tell him to move if you’re that worried.”

“And why didn’t you?” Bucky shoots back. Skinny Kid is settling down about twenty feet from the rambunctious group of boys and thankfully it seems he hasn’t been noticed yet.

Natasha just snorts and shakes her head, throwing a leg back over the side of the four-wheeler and kicking it into gear. “Make sure to watch the rest of the beach too, don’t just creep on mystery boy.”

“I’m not-”

Bucky’s response is lost in the spray of sand kicked up by the tires and he scowls through his sunglasses at Natasha’s retreating back. Because he’s not _creeping,_ he’s _watching._ There’s a difference. Besides, it’s his job to keep everyone on the beach safe, and it’s his completely professional opinion that Skinny Kid needs a little extra watching so that’s what he’s doing. No harm in that.

He settles back in his chair and takes another glance through his binoculars at Skinny Kid, now seated in the sand and flipping through a sketchpad, and lets out a sigh. There’s nothing he can do about the boy’s closeness to trouble. All he can do it watch and wait and hope for the best.

Because even though his and Natasha’s bet had been made as a joke, Bucky’s always been secretly terrified of Skinny Kid getting sucked into the water. Because Skinny Kid didn’t get his name by chance. The guy is _tiny._ His skin’s pale white despite the hours in the sun and he looks like a strong wind wouldn’t just knock him over but instead send him flying into the next state. So yeah, Bucky’s worried.

The last thing he needs is someone dying on his beach.

And considering the inevitable dehydration from the sun’s hellish rays, it’s only a matter of time before someone goes down in the sand, nauseated and weak and swearing up and down that they’d had a bottle of water in the morning, sir, they didn’t know what was wrong.

He’s heard it a thousand times.

He’s also had to explain a thousand times that beer does not count as a method of hydration. And, judging by the way the party’s looking, he’d be doing it again today. Probably more than once.

Letting his binoculars fall back against his chest, Bucky sighs and shakes his head. At least he has an emergency kit under the chair.

\---+---

It’s half past one when Bucky hears a commotion from Skinny Kid’s part of the beach. He’s been scanning the area periodically and slowly cooking in his own sweat, but his binoculars are to his face so fast he’s sure he’s given himself two black eyes. Because that commotion sounds like-

And yup, it is. A fight of some kind has broken out down in the sand and Bucky’s initial sweep of the area ends without a sign of Skinny Kid. Bucky curses and jumps off the chair, grabbing the emergency bag and putting his whistle between his teeth.

He sprints off through the sand and all he can think is how easy it would be to snap one of Skinny Kid’s arms, how simple to bruise all that pale skin. There’s a group of bigger boys huddled in a circle and Bucky breaks his way into their midst, pushing them back and blowing the whistle, yelling at them to stop or he’ll kick them off his goddamn beach.

He’s wearing the bright red lifeguard shorts and has fire in his eyes so no one argues, at least not until he sees Skinny Kid wobbling to his feet with blood running out his nose and reaches out a hand to help.

“I’ve got it.” Skinny Kid snaps, dodging out of the way of Bucky’s arm.

Which, okay, unexpected but understandable. The guy’s just been beaten up so maybe his pride needs a moment to recover.

He glares at the other boys until they leave then squats down to grab Skinny Kid’s sketchpad, dusting the sand off before handing it back to him. Skinny Kid looks at it with something like conflict and regret and Bucky finally realizes that his hands are pressed to his nose and covered in blood. (Not exactly ideal for holding paper unless red/brown fingerprints are part of the aesthetic.) He curses and stuffs the notebook under his arm, reaching in his bag and pulling out a packet of sterile gauze squares. He holds it out to Skinny Kid with his best, winning smile.

“Here, you can mop the blood up with that and then we can get you cleaned off up at the chair. I have some water there you can use.” He gestures back the way he came then thinks to add, “I’m Bucky, by the way.”

But instead of a thanks or an okay or an introduction, he gets a glare. “I can take care of myself.”

And that is definitely not what he had been expecting. So he holds his hands up in surrender and tries to look as unthreatening as possible, which, really, he didn’t think he was threatening to begin with but he did have nearly a foot on the guy, so... “Just trying to help, pal.”

Skinny Kid looks at him suspiciously for a moment, eyeing him up and down as if trying to scrutinize Bucky’s soul. He feels like he’s at the airport going through customs-- like he’s done something wrong even when he knows he hasn’t. Then, mercifully, Steve sighs and lets his shoulders slump. “Sorry. And thanks, I guess.” He presses the gauze to his nose and grumbles something else that Bucky, being distracted by seeing Skinny Kid so up close and personal (and holy hell is eyes are the best kind of blue and has the side of his head always been so artfully shaved like that?), doesn’t hear.

“Sorry,” he grins sheepishly. “Didn’t catch that.”

Skinny Kid huffs and tilts his head back, speaking louder but looking resolutely up at the sky (how he’s not burning out his retinas Bucky has no idea). “M’names Steve.”

“Steve.” Bucky repeats, trying the name out on his tongue. It feels right, sitting there, and he resolves to find a way to keep saying it. He doesn’t want Steve to go back to just being Skinny Kid who comes and sits at the left side of the beach and draws.

So he turns and puts a tentative arm around Steve’s shoulders, waiting to make sure it isn’t going to be shrugged off before using it to tug Steve closer and half dragging him back across the sand. “Well Steve, let’s get the blood off your face and you can regale me with how you managed to get it there in the first place.”

\---+---

It turns out Steve is some kind of vigilante for social justice.

The blood now staining Bucky’s towel was shed over a group of girls who had been cat-called walking past, Steve had taken offense, told the boys to knock it off, and the obvious answer to a disagreement of that sort was to punch each other in the face. Makes perfect sense.

Or at least to Steve it certainly seems to.

Because this hadn’t even been the first time. In fact, it’s explained to him that this is one of the _better_ times because Steve hasn’t _broken_ anything. And like fuck is Bucky going to let that kind of attitude fly.

“Steve, you can’t keep getting into fights like that if you’re gonna get hurt.”

The glare that gets him is enough to kill a weaker man, Bucky’s sure.

“They shouldn’t have been saying those things.” Steve presses. “Someone had to stand up for those girls and I didn’t see anyone else around to do it.”

Steve’s hair is glowing golden in the sun and there’s a cut above his eye and suddenly Bucky feels like he’s looking at a hero with a heart as pure as snow.

He thinks of knights and kings and dragons and what he’d thought to be a dead or dying breed of man. And that’s it, then. Steve, as an endangered species of the human race, must be protected at all costs.

Bucky’s found a new summer job.

“Guess you’re right.” Bucky stands and he can tell from the look on Steve’s face that he was expecting more of an argument. But Bucky just winks down at him and smiles. “And I guess that just means I’ll have to stick around and help you finish all of those fights you start, huh?”

Steve just shakes his head but there’s a smile twitching at his lips too, eyes sparkling with something brighter than the sun.

\---+---

Life goes on and Bucky stays true to his word. When Steve walks down to the water with sketchpad in hand, Bucky calls out to him and waves like an idiot from his chair. Bucky’s always watching and Steve sits a little closer than before, close enough that when Bucky shouts his name he actually hears it, turns his head and shouts back.

And it’s kind of beautiful, the way they come together easy as the waves hitting the shore, without much thought or awkwardness as if they’ve already been friends for years.

Of course, Bucky is constantly reminded that that’s not the case, because there’s so much about Steve that he still wants to know. Like his favorite season, his birthday, what his hair looks like wet and plastered to his face…why he comes to the ocean every day to sit and draw alone.

But Bucky’s getting there. He knows Steve has a weakness for all things unique or deformed, will pick up shells and stuff his pockets with broken black ones with pits and holes, with marbled white ones stained at the edges, shells that are brown and bulbous and awkwardly shaped. He thinks it says a lot about Steve’s character, that he deliberately chooses the things that most people would cast aside.

He also knows that Steve is chivalrous beyond his years and stubborn enough to drive a man insane. He acts like a knight too proud and fearless for his armor, will charge into any battle without a second thought if his heart and propriety demand it.

Which is why as he stares out over the ocean and hears someone come up beside him, not looking down because he figures it’s just Natasha grabbing some water or sunscreen, he isn’t actually that surprised when a shell hits his arm and he glances over the side of the chair to see Steve staring up at him with blood running down the side of his face. Worried, but not surprised.

“Shit, Steve.” Bucky says, jumping down and immediately digging for the emergency kit. The things he needs are on top: sterile wipes, gauze, bandages; and he pulls them out quickly before turning around and taking a better look at Steve’s face.

Steve’s just staring back at him with defiance in his eyes and a dare in the set of his jaw. It’s a say-one-wrong-thing-and-you’ll-be-on-your-ass kind of attitude and Bucky knows it’s born from years of having people treat him like something less. So he says nothing, not at first, just sets to work patching up Steve’s face until Steve’s shoulders settle and then he finally dares to ask, “So what’d the bastard do?”

“He was harassing people up by the road. Calling ‘em names and things like that.” Steve gives his hand over for Bucky to clean and hisses through his teeth at the burn of antiseptic. “They weren’t bothering him any and people should be allowed to love who they love. So I told him he could leave if he was that uncomfortable.”

By now, Bucky understands the gist of what Steve is saying and his blood boils at the thought of Steve standing up for what’s right and getting beat down in return. It’s wrong and Steve shouldn’t have to fight everyone else’s battles. But he doesn’t say that. “Up by the road here?” Is what he says instead. Steve nods and Bucky finishes wrapping his hand. “Well, thanks then. Would’ve hated having someone like that on the beach, but you didn’t have to.”

_And you definitely didn’t have to do it alone._ He finishes in his mind, letting the words ring as he meets Steve’s eyes. And even though he doesn’t say them out loud he feels like Steve hears them anyway, because he smiles all crooked and proud like the punk he is and says, “He had it coming.”

Bucky grins back, water reflecting the sun.

\---+---

“Do you ever wonder what it’d be like to live in the ocean?” Bucky muses one day, leaning back in the warm sand with Steve at his side. He’s on his break and Steve is drawing the waves.

“Wet,” He shrugs. “Cold, probably a bit salty.”

Bucky rolls his eyes and nudges Steve’s ankle with his elbow. “C’mon, I think it’d be amazing. All that clear blue water, the current just flowing by...and think of all the places you’d have to explore, places no one else has been before.”

Steve lifts his head and squints out towards the ocean, as if he can see into its depths if he just tries hard enough. “I can picture it,” he finally nods. “Bucky the mermaid, the first of his kind to get eaten by a shark out in the middle of nowhere.”

And really, Bucky should’ve seen this coming. (Steve’s a sarcastic little shit when he wants to be.)

“That’s too bad for you then.” He sighs, putting his head back and feeling the sun warm against the inside of his eyelids. “You won’t get to see any cool fish. And to think I was going to show you in the first place…” He shakes his head and holds back the smile threatening to break his lips when Steve starts shifting next to him.

“Well…” Steve hedges. “Maybe the sharks will be scared off by your ugly mug and decide not to eat you.”

Bucky’s eyebrows shoot to the top of his head at that. “Oh, really?” He stretches out in the sand then flops over on his stomach, trying to save himself from burning too badly. “Well, let’s hope so.”

They relax in silence for a few minutes, just the sound of the constantly crashing waves and the few other people on the beach filtering in around them. A pattern of shells gets pressed into his back and he hums as the cool material meets his skin.

“So you really like the ocean, huh Buck?”

Like the ocean? He revels in it, studies it, wants to know about every little intricate detail of its makeup and structure. He has pictures of fish, the waves, the beach on his walls and shelves of books all dedicated to its glories. Bucky _loves_ the ocean with a passion he’s never had for anything else.

“Yeah,” he breathes. “Yeah, I like it a lot.”

He expects another jibe, maybe for Steve to snort or laugh, but instead Steve just hums quietly and says, “It is beautiful, isn’t it?”

So Bucky decides to take a chance. “You ever see what’s beneath the surface?” He asks. “Not just the beach and the waves, but everything that goes on where we can’t see? Because that’s where it’s really beautiful. Like you wouldn’t believe.”

Steve glances over at him and Bucky squints up through the brightness to meet his curious expression. “No, I can’t say I have. Unless you count going to the New York aquarium.”

Bucky makes a face at that. Because yeah aquariums are amazing and a great way to see fish up close, but they offer only the barest of glimpses into the true majesty of the ocean’s treasures. You don’t see the wide blue expanses broken up by specs of color, little pinpoints of life that float so freely you can hardly believe your eyes. You don’t see the sheer overwhelming size of it all and get struck with the wonder of just how many _things_ are living all around you, some whose ancestors looked almost exactly the same over a million years ago.

“Not quite the same, but that’s a great aquarium. Went there all the time as a kid.”

“Really?” Steve asks, eyebrows raised and incredulous. _You really expect me to believe you went to **my** aquarium all the time?_ (Bucky’s consistently amazed by how much Steve can say with just a look.)

“I used to live in Brooklyn.” Bucky explains. “I’ve only lived here…almost two years now. I came for school.”

“School.” Steve repeats slowly. He looks up and stares out into the ocean, sketchpad all but forgotten in his lap. There’s a far-away, almost sad look to Steve’s eyes but it’s gone before Bucky can do anything about it, pushed away by a cough. “So, what’re you studying then? If there wasn’t a school for you in New York.”

Bucky sifts his fingers through the sand and stares at the little tracks his nails leave behind. He wonders how many microorganisms he just displaced. “Marine biology.”

“So I wasn’t too far off with that mermaid comment.” Bucky shoots him a look but Steve is just smiling down at him, eyes crinkled and sparkling with mischief. “And is that why you’re a lifeguard? Extra chances to run into the ocean and hope you’ll get taken back by your kind?”

“Ha ha,” Bucky flips onto his side, dislodging the shells on his back, and flicks sand at Steve’s leg, getting grainy bits of obliterated shell in the downy hairs along Steve’s calf. He feels no remorse. “Believe it or not, I’m a lifeguard because I want to _help_ people.” Steve gives him another _look_ so Bucky starts on the task of burying Steve’s feet in the sand. “It’s definitely a bonus to be able to watch the ocean and get, you know, paid. I’m not arguing that. I’m just saying it wasn't the only reason.”

A breeze blows up from the water and Bucky clenches his eyes shut against the sudden onslaught of _sand,water,salt_. Steve wriggles his toes and Bucky can feel them against his palm through the sand. He doesn’t know why his heart clenches but it does and he’s almost disappointed when Steve stops fidgeting to run a hand through his hair.

In a desperate attempt to clear the silence and distract his own unruly train of thought, Bucky blurts out- “I see enough of the ocean at my internship I don’t need to sneak peeks during work.” And Steve looks back down at him with a question in those piercing blue eyes and that had not been his intention. His tongue is dry and stuck to the roof of his mouth and he thinks he might be teetering on the edge of an abyss as the sun beats down on them and the ocean breeze tousles their hair.

“I-uh, yeah,” Bucky eloquently begins. And he doesn’t know what’s happened to the smooth talker he’s been known to be, sweeping girls off their feet like nobody’s business, but he’s apparently taken an extended vacation and left Bucky on his own to suffer. “I got a place at the local aquarium, feeding and cleaning and doing the nasty jobs no one else wants. It’s not glamorous and I don’t get paid, but I love it.”

And Steve just sits in silence for a minute, thought wrinkle between his brows and lips set in a line like he’s figuring out a particularly difficult math problem. “So,” he starts, “You clean up fish poop for free… And you _enjoy it_?” Bucky opens his mouth to defend his honor or something, but Steve just shakes his head and there’s a fond little smile on his face that Bucky clings to like a lifeline. “That- That’s awesome, Buck. Sounds like you’ve really found your calling.”

Bucky’s fingers freeze where they’ve been drawing patterns in the sand and he stares up at Steve with what he really hopes isn’t (but knows is) a hopeful-puppy-dog kind of expression. Because he’s known forever that the ocean was going to be his life, but hearing it from someone else not-his-mom makes it that much more real. Like if Steve can tell Bucky’s meant for marine biology, then it must be true.

He doesn’t care how stupid that sounds.

“Thanks,” he finally says, pushing more sand up around Steve’s ankles and patting it into place just so he doesn’t have to meet those piercing blues. But then he realizes that that’s kind of rude so he looks up into them anyway and ends up asking, “So what about you? What calling brought you to this humble shore?”

That sad kind of look comes back to Steve’s face and Bucky wants to kick himself for putting it there. But he settles for making Steve smile instead, giving him his best shit-eating grin and fluttering his eyelashes up at him like a loon. “Unless you just came for the view?”

And Steve snorts and smacks Bucky’s chest, sending him sprawling back into the sand with an exaggerated flop. Bucky yelps like he’s been wounded and Steve plucks more shells from the sand, dropping the first handful onto Bucky’s chest like a paperweight and inkwell all at once as he starts creating patterns against Bucky’s skin. There’ll be sand in Bucky’s bellybutton and odd tan lines on his abs but Steve has a tiny grin on his face as he works so Bucky wouldn’t change a thing.

The sun beats down through the clouds and he welcomes the warmth of it on his skin.

\---+---

It’s a week later as they’re both walking along the beach, feet sinking in sand as the barest edges of waves wash across their toes, that Steve offers Bucky the first real glimpse into his life. Bucky’s got an arm around his shoulders and Steve’s sketchpad is safely tucked away beneath the lifeguard chair.

“I came here because of my mom.” He says without any real introduction.

Bucky wants to look over at him, read the expression on his face and ask for more but he knows that’s not right. So he stays quiet and says _hello, I’m here_ with a squeeze to Steve’s shoulder instead, waits for when Steve is ready to go on.

“She’s always liked the ocean,” Steve explains quietly. “Always said she wanted to go… but we lived so far away and there was always something...” He swallows softly and Bucky can feel how the weight of the world suddenly settles on his shoulders. “Then she got sick. And I figured, you know, if we’re going to be in the hospital most of the time, no work or school, it didn’t really matter _where_ we were. So I moved us out here.” His voice gets real small and he stares out at the water. “She got to see the ocean for awhile at least, but now she can’t leave her room.”

Foam laps at their heels and a group of gulls swoops down to pluck at the waves. A cloud floats by overhead and casts them into shadow, bringing images of Steve curled around a sketchpad underneath the shifting sun.

In Bucky’s mind, everything starts to click into place with a horrible kind of clarity. “So you bring her drawings of the beach, so she can still see.”

Because of course Steve would do something so selfless and caring. He beats up guys twice his size for breaking the code of chivalry, Bucky can only imagine what he’d do for his mom.

Steve nods confirmation to Bucky’s words then stoops down to pick up a cracked red shell, jagged at the edges with a hole in one side. “She likes to see the waves, whether they’re calm or choppy or big right before a storm. I bring her shells, too. Sea glass if I can find it, anything interesting that washes up and I can carry home.”

He pockets his most recent find but his eyes are somewhere far away, somewhere Bucky can’t reach, as he says, “I wish I could give her so much more, though. It never feels like enough.”

“ _Steve_ ,” Bucky whispers, a plea and promise all at once. “It’s more than enough. Most people wouldn’t even do half of what you’re doing.”

Steve shrugs and they stop, ankle deep in cold water with sand sinking between their toes. “But it’s just like you said, isn’t it? A lot of the beautiful stuff…it’s out there.” He gestures out towards the ocean. “I can’t show her that, can’t bring any of it to her. There‘s so much she’ll never be able to see and that’s- it’s not _fair_ , Buck.”

And right in that moment, Bucky’s heart breaks. He pulls Steve back under his arm and doesn’t let him go, stares studiously out into the distance as Steve muffles little gasps into his shoulder.

Steve is _crying_ and Bucky thought he’d never see the day.

And he never imagined he wouldn’t be able to do a thing about it.

“You’re right, Steve,” he murmurs. “It’s not fair. It’s not. But you’re doing so much…you can’t beat yourself up about the things you just can’t swing.”

Steve gives another muffled sniffle, a wave crashes into their legs, and Bucky is suddenly hit with inspiration.

“But…” he says, voice trailing off as he gives his idea a bit more time to form. “But maybe I could help you.”

He pulls back and Steve does as well, eyes meeting, watery and clear, blue on blue.

“I work at the aquarium, I could- I could get you in and you could draw her everything. Just like you draw the beach.” He can see something sparking behind Steve’s eyes and rushes to continue. “And I have movies, documentaries…I have entire _books…_ ”

The cloud that had been covering them drifts away and sun once again glares down and kisses their skin. A smile takes root and grows on Steve’s face, mirrored in Bucky’s own.

“That’d be great, Buck.” Steve finally says. “You sure? It won’t be any trouble?”

Bucky shakes his head, already planning how everything will work. He’ll show him the sea horse exhibit first, tiny animals wrapped around seaweed and displayed behind magnified glass. And then there’s the clown fish, the coral fish, the angel fish…puffer fish and lion fish and reef sharks and dolphins. He’ll show Steve _everything._

The sun is bright on the back of their necks as they make their way back down the beach.

“No trouble at all.”

\---+---

There’s a slight breeze in the air as Bucky waits outside of the employee entrance to the aquarium. It’s just past dinnertime and while most people are home from work or at least on their way, Bucky hasn’t even started his allotted time for the evening. But that’s okay, because it’s easier to work when they’re fewer patrons around. (He also likes the third shift overseer better; Mr. Clarkson tends to let Bucky spend more time in the tanks than strictly necessary.)

Mr. Clarkson had also been the one to let Steve in as Bucky’s shadow. It had taken a little convincing and the promise that Steve would stay all but surgically attached to his hip, but it was happening. He just had to wait for Steve to arrive and then they’d be free to go, Bucky to do his usual rounds and Steve to follow and draw in his footsteps.

He takes a breath and adjusts the collared shirt that always feels so weird after a day at the beach, looking off to the side only to have his head jerking back again when a familiar voice calls out, “Hey, Buck!” and Steve comes jogging up to meet him, sketchpad and pencil bag under one arm.

And Bucky freezes, unable to speak as his eyes trace over the little line of black hoops going up Steve’s ears then flick to the tattoos just barely poking out of his shirt at the collar and sleeves. (He’s wearing a looser shirt today, something old and smudged and probably meant for drawing. Bucky’s not sure he remembers how to breathe.)

Steve notices his line of sight and a soft blush stains his cheeks. “They’re, uh- They’re for my dad,” he pulls up one sleeve and Bucky can see Joseph Rogers, as well as two dates which Bucky can only assume are his birth and death, written into an army insignia. Then Steve pulls up the other sleeve, where Sarah Rogers is written in calligraphy in an intricate floral piece, one date displaying her birth and an obvious space left for…for the other date. And if Bucky finds that morbid he doesn't say. “And for my mom. The other ones are just random pieces that I liked.”

There’s something in his tone and the way he averts his eyes that has Bucky smiling knowingly. “Oh, you mean you got a cross because you like Jesus? And a…” He reaching forward and daringly pulls at the collar of Steve’s shirt. “And an American flag because you’re just a big fan of the color scheme?”

Steve narrows his eyes at him but there’s no feeling behind it. “You wanna stand here and waste time with stories?”

_Yes._ Bucky wants to say. “Fine,” he says instead. “Follow me, you sassy little punk.”

Steve elbows his side at the door. “Jerk.”

And then they’re inside and Steve goes quiet, staying close to Bucky’s side as they navigate the dark underbelly of the aquarium, offering only whispered questions and comments as Bucky clocks in and gathers his supplies.

Their first stop is the sea horse tank.

Bucky drops in the poor microscopic shrimp meant to be dinner and Steve gets to drawing, face practically pressed into the glass as he works details and lines onto paper.

And it’s kind of amazing really, how Steve seems to fit so easily into all aspects of Bucky’s life. Whether it’s his actual job down at the beach or interning at the aquarium; early morning talks waiting for the sun to rise, eating lunch together in the sand, or passing the time during Bucky’s breaks with idle conversation. No matter what it is, Steve fits seamlessly into it. Hell, the little guy even gets along with Natasha, and that is not a feat many can boast.

And as they move onto the tank with a bunch of clear jellyfish floating delicately inside, Bucky wonders just how much more of his life Steve will so easily slip into.

“They really are beautiful,” Steve murmurs, voice low like it’ll somehow shatter the darkness around them. “It almost looks like they’re made of glass.”

“Yeah,” Bucky agrees. “They’re real fragile like glass, too. Their environment has to be perfect or they’ll die.”

Steve hums a little in the back of his throat and continues his work, listening quietly as Bucky explains the importance of currents and temperature, how the jellyfish have to be kept moving but not too much, how easily they could be destroyed by the very water they depend on to survive. Bucky squirts more solution onto the glass and cleans as he talks, answering Steve’s questions about how long it takes for a puffer fish to deflate (anywhere from under a minute to so long it causes death) to how many species of starfish are in the sea (about 1,800).

And Bucky is in his glory.

He’ll take any excuse to talk about all the creatures of the deep but sharing with Steve somehow makes it even better. The way he screws up his face in concentration, asking question after question even as his hand continues to move across paper and capture everything in front of him in graphite and negative space. The way he always looks so pleased when he’s finished a drawing and follows Bucky with an excited smile to the next exhibit. It’s amazing.

And it’s not until they make their way to the coral reef tank that Bucky glances at his watch and realizes they’ve been at it for hours.

“Shit, Steve. You need to be getting home.”

As much as Bucky would love to do this forever, he does realize there are other things to life besides marine biology. Unfortunately.

Steve flips his sketchbook closed and gives one last forlorn look to the reef tank.

“Don’t worry, you’ll be back.” Bucky says as he packs up his things, “You can come here with me whenever you want, draw every fish a thousand times.”

And you’d think Bucky just said they’re going to Disney Land with the way Steve turns to him and smiles, a new bounce in his step as they head back to the employee doors. The sun may not be out when they finally end up back outside, but the sky is clear and the moon is helping light the street with its pale glow.

When they wave goodbye at the intersection, Bucky wants nothing more than to offer Steve the world, just so he can see that smile again.

\---+---

Bucky’s going to die. He’s going to die and it’s going to be a slow, painful, agonizing sort of death-- like being burned alive and dipped in acid simultaneously. (Or at least that’s what it feels like, Steve all pressed up beside him, pointy elbow stabbing him in the side every time Steve goes to draw another line on the page.)

The sun is bright and shining and Bucky has his aviators balanced neatly atop his nose, eyes surveying the landscape the same way he has for weeks. There’s nothing much to see, just a few couples walking in the tide and an older woman collecting shells. Natasha is off doing rounds farther down the beach.

So basically he’s alone, Steve sat beside him and no one to depend on for his sanity but himself. And he can already feel his hold slipping.

Because Steve is still pale and small as ever, beautiful like nothing Bucky’s ever seen before and putting the ocean landscape in front of them to shame. This time last year, if anyone had told Bucky he’d find something let alone some _one_ more beautiful than all the ocean has to offer he would’ve told them to fuck right off. And yet here he is, staring at Steve from the corner of his eye like a pathetic pre-teen with a crush.

But Steve’s hair is golden like the sun and his eyes are blue like the sea so maybe it’s no wonder that Bucky’s in love.

Steve is the beach personified. He’s sturdy and strong and unyielding, but at the same time filled with wonder and fun, carrying so much life inside him and sharing it with the world. And just like Bucky wants to know everything about the ocean, he wants to know everything about Steve too.

Even the things he’s been too afraid to ask.

Steve looks over at him and Bucky freezes, trapped between the thoughts in his head and the easily smile on Steve’s lips. He wants so _bad_ to just reach out and touch…

But then Steve’s back working on his sketch and Bucky is left gaping and wide-eyed as mental images of mouths and lips and teeth and tongues go flashing through his head. He swallows thickly.

He wonders what Steve would do if he wasn’t a stronger man…if he fell to temptation right here and now…

In order to distract himself, he decides to fall to a lesser temptation instead, one that’s been nagging him for awhile and asks, “So, no earrings today huh? Surprised you’re not showing them off at the beach. Or your tattoos.”

Steve continues with his drawing for a minute, finishing up a detail that’s been bothering him for a while. Then he just shrugs, says, “Didn’t want things getting lost in the sand.” He smudges a bit at the paper. “Not like there’s much to see anyway.”

“Please tell me you’re joking.” Bucky says.

Steve just shrugs again and Bucky wants to shake him.

“Steve, c’mon. You can’t mean that.”

_Because you’re breathtaking in all of the best ways and anyone would be stupid not to see._

“Leave it, Bucky.” Steve says, voice stern.

And Bucky hates it when Steve’s mad at him (like actually mad at him, not just the play fighting they do so often) so Bucky leaves it, and changes the topic instead. “You still coming over tonight? Movie tonight is all about the deepest parts of the ocean, you wouldn’t believe some of the stuff swimming around down there.”

Steve just hums in the back of his throat noncommittally so Bucky goes on.

“Like there’s this one fish called the gulper eel. It’s this huge, scary snake looking thing with a mouth like some kind of monster pelican. It lures fish in with a light on its tail then wham! Swallows ‘em whole.”

Steve hums again and Bucky feels disappointment creeping in. He’d really thought that was going to work, Steve always loves hearing about whatever strange ocean creatures Bucky can come up with.

But then Steve lifts his head from the page with a smile and Bucky knows he’s been forgiven. “That does sound pretty neat, Buck.” He says. “Still don’t think anything can beat last night’s video though.”

And of course, of _course_ Steve’s going to be difficult.

“Just because you have an unhealthy love for the dumbo octopus doesn’t mean you get to think less of all the other amazing things out there.” Bucky chastises.

Steve just rolls his eyes. “Please, like you can talk. I had to listen to you go on and on about the various _reproduction rituals_ of some fish called a sarcastic fringehead.”He levels Bucky with a significant look. “I still don’t believe that you didn’t just make that up.”

“The sarcastic fringeheads are out there. They are _real_ , Steve. And they do not appreciate your doubts.”

“Oh no,” Steve mock gasps in horror. “What’re they going to do about it, hit me with their weirdly colored mouths until I surrender?”

“Please,” Bucky scoffs. “You wish you’d be so lucky. You’d probably secretly like it or something.”

Steve elbows Bucky so hard he nearly topples from the chair, hanging on by the grace of his honed reflexes and lifeguard-training produced muscles.

Note to self: Do Not Tease Steve About Making-Out With Fish

“Damn, Stevie.” He gripes, rubbing at his sore arm. “Trying to kill me?”

“If I wanted to kill you you’d be dead already.” Steve says, face completely serious as he goes back to smudging and shading and whatever else artistic people do that is beyond Bucky’s knowledge.

He laughs and settles himself back into place (right next to Steve’s pointy elbows again because he’s apparently a sadist like that). “Can’t tell if you’re joking or not there, pal.”

“Kind of like I can’t tell if you’re joking with half of the names you come up with for these fish.” Steve fires back, putting down his pencil to list of with his fingers. “Sarcastic fringehead, tasseled wobbegong, mola mola… It sounds like something by Dr. Seuss.”

The sun beats down on Bucky’s chest, searing, and he really wants to know how Steve’s managed not to burn all summer.

“Rude.” He says instead. “It’s not my fault some of the most awesome fish in the ocean have super awesome names to match.”

And it is kind of funny how the two seem to go hand in hand that way, Bucky muses.

But Steve doesn’t seem to find it quiet as fascinating. He just laughs and shakes his head at Bucky’s words, ducking his head back down to put the final touches on foam and sand and crashing waves. It’s the picture he’ll give to his mom that night, after leaving the beach but before going to Bucky’s house. It’s the picture that will tell Mrs. Rogers that the sun was hot, the waves were mostly calm, and her son was perched in the lifeguard chair up at the top of the beach, looking over it all.

And as a breeze whips through his hair and flutters the pages of Steve’s sketchbook, Bucky wonders what it’d be like to be there when Steve handed it over, to see the smile in the woman’s eyes. To be a part of Steve’s life like that.

And the waves crash onto shore, shaping pictures in the sand.

\---+---

“Are you sure, Steve?” Bucky asks, mouth dry as he’s pulled down an unfamiliar hall, in an unfamiliar home, about to be thrust into completely unfamiliar territory. “It’s not going to be too much or anything is it?”

Steve shakes his head and keeps his grip tight on Bucky’s wrist. “It’ll be fine, Buck.” He says. “Besides, she really wants to meet you. And if it starts wearing her out too much we’ll just leave.”

He says it like its so matter-of-fact, so obvious, that Bucky can’t help but nod along. And it’s not like he really has a clue what he’s doing anyway, so he’ll just have to trust Steve on this one and hope for the best.

“Just be yourself,” Steve continues. “You love the ocean, she loves the ocean…it’ll be great. Start in on one of your marine life dissertations if you run out of things to say.”

And that…is mildly comforting advice, but it’s still not enough to prepare Bucky for when he’s brought to a stop in front of a lavender painted door and told to wait just long enough for Steve to knock and a voice to call back, _Come in._ Then he’s once again being pulled forward by the wrist, eyes going wide as he takes in the room around him.

Steve’s deposited him in the center of the small space, and although he knows he’s supposed to be introducing himself to the frail looking woman he can just see out of the corner of his eye, he can’t tear himself away from the walls.

Because it’s simply unbelievable, what Steve’s done.

The ocean is there all around him in charcoal grey and black, smudged shadows and bold lines. A panorama of the beach stretches along the upper moulding, fading down into drawing of reefs and corals, tidal pools and shells adrift in shallow water. Then come the fish, sketches Bucky recognizes from the aquarium or the evenings spent at his house watching Animal Planet documentaries. There’s a swordfish cutting across three pages, a shark emerging from the distance as a pod of dolphins swims away. Then comes the lion fish with its spines on display, a sponge floating in the open ocean, jellyfish caught in a slow moving current. Two mantis shrimp duke it out in the sand.

As Bucky’s eyes scan lower they delve into the darkest reaches of the ocean, where from the murky waters come images of anglerfish and deep-sea tube worms, a gulper eel snatching up its prey. There are entirely black pages along the floorboards, colored in with arching strokes and furious lines, filled with mystery and just a hint of what could lie behind the veil of darkness. It’s beautiful and breathtaking and Bucky’s heart is in his throat.

The ecosystems don’t match and neither do some of the oceans for that matter, but Bucky’s never seen anything more perfect in his life.

“I- uh, I’m sorry, ma’am,” Bucky says, still trying to soak it all in. “I just- your son’s really something, isn’t he?”

“That he is.” A soft voice replies.

And Bucky finally forces his eyes to the thin frame propped up in the bed, soft blonde hair and blue eyes just like Steve but with a slightly different mouth.

“I’m Bucky,” he says. “And it’s great to meet you, honestly. I’m just still a bit overwhelmed by-” he gestures hopefully to the room around them but Mrs. Rogers just smiles.

“It’s alright, I understand. Steve tells me you’re an ocean enthusiast as well?”

Bucky nods.

“Then I’m going to have to thank you for helping Steve create so many of these drawing for me.” She looks around the room slowly. “I can’t tell you how much of a blessing it’s been, having you in Steve’s life.”

And Bucky doesn’t really know what to say to that…because how do you explain to a mother that her son’s been more of a blessing to you than you could ever possibly be to him?

So thankfully Steve answers for him, “Mom, come on, you promised…”

“I know, I know. I won’t say anymore.” Mrs. Rogers says, then fixes Steve with a look Bucky recognizes from Steve himself. “But you don’t forget your promise either.”

“I won’t…” Steve murmurs, looking towards the wall with a pink tinge to his cheeks that has Bucky burning with curiosity. But he knows this isn’t the time or place to pester Steve about what’s been said, so he holds his tongue

“Good. Now, Bucky, I’ve heard you know an awful lot about every one of these creatures on my wall?”

Bucky nods, “Yes, ma’am.”

“Would you mind telling me about one of them? I’d love to hear their stories…” She sits further back in her pillows and Bucky can tell the little bit of talking she’s done has already worn her out.

“Of course, anything you’re particularly interested in?”

Her eyes flick to the bottom of the wall, near the door, where Steve’s stuck a drawing of a dumbo octopus. He can’t help but smile and lift an eyebrow in Steve’s direction, getting a shrug and a mischievous grin in return.

“Well,” he starts, “The dumbo octopus gets its name from a pretty obvious source, the big fins on the top of its head, which it uses to basically flap around the ocean like the flying elephant from Disney…”

By the time he’s finished with his ‘dissertation’, Mrs. Barnes is smiling softly up at the ceiling, eyes closed and face pale with fatigue. She whispers a simple ‘ _thank you’_ and kisses Steve’s cheek when he leans down to say goodbye.

Then they’re slipping silently back out the door and Steve’s fingers are wrapped around his wrist like he’s somehow going to get lost in the narrow hall.

“That was…That was amazing, Steve.” Bucky whispers, turned towards the door as if he could still see the sketches through the wood. “You’re so much like her and just- those sketches are unbelievable. _You’re_ unbelievable.”

Bucky jerks slightly when a hand comes up and brushes past his cheek, delicate fingers curling behind his ear, then he turns slowly to face Steve’s determined expression. “Steve?” He asks, not clue what’s going on but something in Steve’s eyes has hope burning hot in the center of his chest.

“I promised my mom I’d stop running away from this,” Steve whispers back.

And before Bucky has time to ask what the hell that’s supposed to mean, Steve is surging forward and kissing him, pulling Bucky down so their mouths meet somewhere in the middle.

Bucky thinks of bright sunshine and rolling waves, hot sand and broken shells. And Steve is everything Bucky could’ve ever imagined and more.

His lips are defiant in their uncertainty and Bucky is eager to give him what he wants, taking cues from the way Steve grips at his hair and bites at his mouth to guide the kiss where Steve wants it to go. His hands end up one on the side of Steve’s face and the other in the dip of his back, pulling him close and holding on because he feels like otherwise he’ll fall and drown. And Steve kisses back like he’s stuck in a riptide as well, strong and unrelenting and just this side of frantic.

Like he’s not sure how much time he’s got left to lose.

“Steve,” Bucky murmurs, Steve’s breath hot against his lips. “Steve, please tell me this isn’t what you’ve been running away from.”

Instead of answering, Steve just hauls him in again, sealing their mouths together and pressing his tongue to the seam of Bucky’s lips. And well, Bucky supposes he can worry about the possibility of how much time they’ve wasted in the future, because right now all he can think to do is moan and wonder how the fuck Steve tastes like cherry gumdrops and the sea.

Outside it’s hot. It’s sweltering and sticky and the kind of weather that puts a sheen of sweat on your skin. But the waves at the beach are calm and Natasha’s resting easily in the lifeguard chair, watching as the tide pulls back out into the sea.

\---+---

“So what do you think about those sarcastic fringeheads now Steve, huh?” Bucky asks, smug as shit on his back in the sand.

Steve lifts his head from where it’s resting on Bucky’s shoulder, careful not to disrupt the shells he’s placed in swooping patterns across Bucky’s chest. Their skin is covered in a film of sand and sweat but neither of them really mind. “Where the hell did that come from?” He asks, flicking hair out of his face nonchalantly like they weren’t just making out in the sand.

But Steve’s lips are still red and his bangs aren’t settling quite right across his forehead. Bucky grins, “ _Because_ … when two male fringeheads get in an argument they settle it by smashing their mouths together and, well, I just don’t see how you can hate on them when you’re kind of using their battle tactics on me.”

Steve’s eyes narrow into little slits and the sun is glaring over his shoulder. “Is that a problem, Barnes?”

“No, not a problem.” Bucky leans up to peck a quick kiss to Steve’s lips. “Just trying to stand up for my fellow aquatic friends.”

And Steve smiles, big and bright, before leaning down and pressing his lips to Bucky’s in a kiss so slow and dragging Bucky feels like he’s dying. (The little shit knows exactly what he’s doing too.)

“I knew it,” Steve whispers into his mouth. “Knew you were a mermaid.”

And Bucky comes up with all of the seriousness he can muster to ask, “But you won’t tell anyone, right? Because I really don’t want to deal with all of the publicity.”

Steve blinks at him then snorts, presses another shell right above his heart. “Sure, Buck, your secret’s safe with me.”

 

\---+---

 

 picture time!!! because everyone obviously wants to know what these two have been talking about >_< maybe?

sarcastic fringehead:

dumbo octopus:

gulper eel:

tasseled wobbegong:

 mola mola:

 

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading and i hope you liked it!!
> 
> i'm on [tumblr](itsmylifekay.tumblr.com) if you want to say hi^^


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